


Who's to Blame

by stephrc79



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:07:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to the Silva Incident, who's really to blame? </p><p>Q's been suspended and Bond thinks it's <i>him</i> who should be taken out back and shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's to Blame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/gifts).



Bond stared at his wrist where it had disappeared into the wall in front of him. The pain across his knuckles barely registered.

“Bond?”

He could hear the tentativeness in Q’s voice, the slight fear. He ignored it as he flexed his fingers behind the plaster. He didn’t know _why_ he was upset enough to put his fist through the wall in Q’s office. He just knew that he was.

“Is it because of what I had you do?” Bond asked, his voice tight. “I’ll talk to Mallory —”

“No, Bond. It wasn’t because of that.” Q sighed, but didn’t come any closer. The slight creak of his chair told Bond he hadn’t even bothered to stand up. Just as well.

“Then what?” Bond asked through gritted teeth. He was certain this was his fault somehow. It had to be. First M died in his arms, then Moneypenny refused to return to field work, and now Q had been suspended. Everyone at MI6 was crumbling to ash around him, and it was _all his fault_.

“Rookie mistake, if you must know,” Q confided quietly. Bond had to strain to hear him, and wasn’t entirely sure Q had meant for him to. “In my absolute arrogance at thinking I was better than Silva, I plugged that sodding laptop directly into the MI6 network. Had I decrypted it _first_ , he wouldn’t have been able to escape, and _none_ of what followed would have happened.”

To anyone less trained, Q sounded like his clipped, perfunctory self. But Bond could hear the self-loathing dripping from the younger man’s voice.

So, it seemed Q took as much blame for this as Bond was. Well, at least they had that in common.

Bond took a deep, steadying breath and said, “This isn’t your fault.” Q made a noise, as if to respond, but Bond cut him off. “I don’t give a sodding fuck what that blasted committee says. You did your job exactly how you saw fit. And you said it yourself. Silva had been planning this for years. You couldn’t have seen every factor coming.”

“Yes, well...” Q’s chair squeaked as he stood up. He walked over, his shoes tapping lightly against the tiled floor as he made his way. “Mallory indicated that if Silva had been planning this, there’s every chance that he wanted _me_ to take over the job. It would explain why he was using my safe protocols, and why that hack message was left for me.”

Bond finally tore his eyes away from the wall as Q walked up next to him. “What message was left for you?”

“‘Not such a clever boy.’” Q huffed, clearly disgusted. “It appeared on the screen right as you ran out. So you see, Bond, this wasn’t just directed at M. This wasn’t just directed at you. This was also directed at me.”

“If that were true, then why am I still here? Why have I just been given a new assignment?” Anger suddenly flared up inside of Bond. He wanted desperately to punch the wall again. Instead, he simply drove his fist in further. “They want a bloody scapegoat. And they’re using you.”

Q nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

Bond shook his head and said, “It should be me. I’m the relic, remember?” He turned back to face Q. “You’re the mad genius who has everything _ahead_ of you. I should be the one dragged out to the stocks.”

Q placed a hand on the wall next to Bond’s and peered at what little he could see inside the hole. “You are a proven asset, Bond. I cocked up my _first mission_ as Quartermaster.” He pushed back and turned to Bond, giving him a resigned smile. “You may be a ‘grand old warship’, but you are in no way ready to be scrapped.”

“I won’t go back if you aren’t on the comms,” Bond promised as he locked eyes with Q. “You are just as much of an asset as I am. You proved that during this mission, regardless of what happened. And, if nothing else, you’ve earned my trust.” Bond turned back to the wall, uncomfortable. “If you know anything about me, you know that’s something I don’t give easily, Quartermaster.”

When there was no response, Bond glanced over to find Q staring at him, his expression unreadable.

“I honestly don’t know what to say to that,” Q murmured.

“‘Thank you’ usually works.”

Q smiled, his green eyes crinkling in a way Bond had yet to see. “Thank you.”

Bond smiled back with a nod. “You’re welcome.”

He shifted and tried to pull his hand out of the wall. When it didn’t budge, he said, “I think my hand is stuck. Normally I would just rip it out, but since it’s _your_ wall...”

“Well, it’s not. Not right now, anyway.”

Bond leveled his gaze at Q. “Yes, it is. This is Q Branch, and you _are Q_. Anyone who says differently will have to go through me.”

Q quirked an eyebrow up as he rested his hand on Bond’s exposed arm. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

“Same thing I always do,” Bond said with a smirk. “Fire and brimstone. Death and destruction.” He straightened out his fingers and twisted his hand, pulling it free. Plaster rained down on both their shoes.

Bond lifted his hand to examine the scrapes along his knuckles. They were bleeding quite nicely, but appeared to be superficial. He walked over to the sink in the corner. He turned the taps on warm and started rinsing his hand off. He hissed when a particular piece of plaster didn’t immediately break free.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Q gently scolded as he came up next to Bond and took his hand. Q slowly started picking out the chunks of wall that were stuck to Bond’s knuckles. “How _have_ you managed to survive, considering the amount of damage you inflict on yourself?”

“Haven’t you heard, Q?” Bond’s tone was low and playful. “I’m infamous at resurrection.”

“That you are,” Q said without looking up. He guided Bond’s hand back under the water to rinse away the last of the flakes. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel to lightly pat Bond’s hand dry.

Setting the towel down, Q finally met Bond’s eyes. “Go on your mission, 007. I’ll be there, even if MI6 doesn’t know it.” He turned and started for his desk, saying, “If you need me, just mention _The Fighting Temeraire_ and I’ll turn this on.” He picked something up and walked back, dropping the item in Bond’s good hand. An earwig. “I have a private comm line. MI6 can’t take possession of it because, well, they don’t know about it. It’s not officially sanctioned. You won’t really be able to talk to me, but I can talk to you.” Q sighed. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

Without thinking, Bond reached out with his damaged hand and took hold of Q’s again. “Thank you.”

And he was. There were so few people left in this world for him, he needed to have someone in his ear he could trust. Someone guiding him. Someone who gave a damn whether he came back or not. He barely knew this boy in front of him, but he at least knew that.

Q gazed at Bond, his expression just as unreadable as before. “Promise me something.”

“Yes?”

“If I’m not back at MI6 when you return, promise you’ll come find me?”

“That won’t be necessary. But in the event that it is,” — Bond made a show of putting the earwig in immediately — “I will _always_ find you, Quartermaster.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come play with me on tumblr at [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I promise I don't bite. Well, not unless you ask nicely.


End file.
